Purgatorium
by izamud2
Summary: A story about the Burned Man, crazy, delirious, to the point that you'll feel like YOU are the one who has been baptized in flames.
1. Chapter 1

Here is a story I am writing. It is probably unrelated to the topic, but I had no where else to put it. please read it and leave feedback!

* * *

We arrived at the island by the hand of a Dr. Morgenn Shneiderlin. There were 10 of us. As part of our punishment, we would be left here for a year as part of an experiment led by the scientist. What type of scientists, only he knows. This Dr. Shneiderlin said that we would be granted amnesty after the year.

It wasn't difficult to guess the reason of our being on this island. After a few moments, it was possible to infer that in some way or another, we had all been labeled dissidents by our government. In theory, dissidence, criticism of government is allowed in the Union of Democratic Republics. There is even a clause in the constitution that allows for it. But in practice, open dissidents were stamped out harshly, and quickly. Freedom is just a name, and democracy, well, just reading its definition inside a dictionary makes it seem absurd.

Not like it would have mattered anyway. We disappeared under the cover of darkness of the night. Agents smashed my door in, covered my head with a black rag, and dragged me out of my apartment. They took me to a government building, but not a police station, rather, something much more sinister looking. They took the rag off of my face, and I immediately looked at them. They were all wearing ski masks. They turned on the TV. There were no news reports about missing people, dissidents, about abuses, about anything. Rather, there were reports about the celebrity of the moment having another child. After that, there was commercial advertising, such as the latest vehicle on the market, a status symbol, which showed the man driving it attracting the attention of the most beautiful women.

The men then turned off the TV. Then two of them stepped forward, picked me up by the arms, with my hands tied, and dragged me to the window. Outside the window there stood a condominium mostly made out of glass. In the room directly inside my line of sight, was a woman on her computer, on social media writing about the latest fashion trends. One of the guards then asked me if I really thought I mattered. He then covered my face and brought me to this doctor.

Here we are now. 10 men, standing in front of the doctor and a few armed men.

"Gentlemen, this is an experimental procedure to treat dissidence. We view our jails as inadequate and overpopulated. This is the first time something like this is tried. You will be left on your own. After a year, we will return, and grant amnesty to whose left. One more thing. You will find a TV somewhere. I will transmit directions occasionally to there. Destruction of the TV voids the offer of amnesty. Goodbye."

The doctor then turned around, and boarded a ship with the heavily armed men and sailed away.

* * *

10 men. The sound of it could give chills to anyone. Scary, isn't it? But no one here looks particularly intimidating. Sure, there were some bigger men, and there were some smaller men. I was somewhere in the middle. Even the biggest one, a muscular man by the name of Avner, didn't look all that intimidating. He had the look of a scared little mouse, and of a nutritionist or some kind of person who takes health and diet issues seriously.

The truth is, none of us knew why exactly we were here. We simply knew we had dissented in some way or another back home. About half of the men looked afraid. Their eyes longed for the comfort of home, willing to betray anyone in order to achieve this goal. The other half had the look on their faces expressing the thought that they had expected worse.

The 10 men: Avner, Amir, Carlos, Costell, Daniel, Ribeiro, Roland, Youssef, and myself. Roland was the smallest man, Ribeiro was the second smallest. Avner was by and large the biggest man in the group. The rest of us were quite average in size. Including the last guy, whose name we didn't know yet. He simply sat by a log, where we were gathered around a fire.

"What's your name?" asked Avner.

The man merely shrugged, and kept the smirk on his face that seemed to be permanently glued.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, and answer to me when I ask something!" Avner walked menacingly towards the man.

'Yes, your highness, I am Dr. Petrov'

Avner grabbed the guy from the collar and picked him off of the ground.

"You're one of those assholes!"

'Relax, I'm not a scientist, dear', answered Dr. Petrov, with a smirk in his face.

Avner put him down and pushed him to the ground. Dr. Petrov remained with the smirk, while his clothes were muddy from the scuffle.

'I too, am here for the same reason as you'.

Everyone soon lost interest in Dr. Petrov.

* * *

We found an abandoned building, seemingly the only one on the island. There was no door. The inside was relatively dirty. There was absolutely no furniture, but there were many rags and pieces of clothing. The walls were a weird shade of gray; most likely this was from the dust and dirt accumulated. There were window openings on the walls, but no windows. These were missing. We made makeshift covers with the rags to cover the openings and the entrance. Then, each of us staked out an area along the empty floor, and lied down on the cold, hard floor. Uncomfortable as it was, it was far better than sleeping outside in the cold under the silvery moon.

In the building, it seemed like the only noise in the world was that of snoring men. Not even crickets chirped that night, no birds hunting, no insects buzzing, even if their presence was felt. Some days, it seems, men are stronger, other days they are weaker. Today I feel stronger, like a fire burned inside me, like this was someone's idea to challenge my virility and my will. The fire inside me soared and made me believe that I truly didn't care, for all I care, someone could torch my belongings back home without a protest from me.

Perhaps this is what is keeping me up. Either that, or the incessant mosquito bites all over my body. I had the sensation of flames inside my body, and the urge to scratch every single inch of it. Under the silvery moon, the white light revealed millions of drops of water all over my skin, like I was a really big plastic sack that had been rained upon. I got up in pain from the floor, my back protesting, and went outside. My mind was blank, my eyes were bloodshot, and my stomach groaned.

From outside I could hear the empty stomachs of the others groan too. And every other minute you could hear a whimper, like that of a puppy. Who knows what material possession they may miss, their phone, their TV, their computer? Undoubtedly these men were in their moment of weakness, disconcerted by the fact that they were stuck in a scenario, almost a dream world they could have never imagined outside of a movie.

Outside, I stared at the moon, that big white cheese wolves howl at and swim halfway across the pond to capture, like an infantile dream. Angels too, have fallen from the sky, in an attempt to capture the splendor in their eyes, instead falling to their death. There were millions of stars; so many that I became intimidated by their power. I believed that any attempt to count them would prove futile. Since I had lived in the city before, I had never before seen so many stars.

The light made my eyes tear up at the sheer induction of light and splendor. Unconsciously, my eyes looked for a star in the sky to be mine. But like a famous author once said, if my star ever existed, it must have been the most dim and insignificant.

"Beautiful, eh?"

I was startled by the weird Dr. Petrov.

"Seeing those stars makes you realize how insignificant you are and how absurd what you feel can be.

I stared at him.

"Ha ha, I don't mean to offend."

I shrugged.

"Look at those stars. Imagine someone in one of those is looking back at you, powerless to even wave. How insignificant they must feel, like worker ants. A world like this is where there could never be control, an idea which makes humans afraid."

'It's Dr. Petrov, correct?'

"Yes."

'What did you do before this?'

"I was a philosopher, historian, among other things. I suppose I was too radical, thus, ending up here. You could say I researched people."

'Humph. People'. I chuckled.

He laughed too.

As if someone had sprayed sleeping dust over me, Mister Sandman began to win me over. My head began to nod on its own, until not the chilly wind, the silvery moonlight, nor could the bright stars triumph over sleep.

* * *

What is there to think about other than food when you're hungry? The future holds no sway. The past doesn't exist. The sun is an enemy to which we look at in contempt, like a jar of gold coins far out of reach, its shiny reflection lures us but reason argues that it is unnecessary and a hassle.

Early into the morning we went to battle against the sun, our bodies drenched in sweat, our stomachs empty, and our hearts hanging low. On top of that, our souls longed for the quiet comforts of home; air conditioner, prepackaged food, distilled water.

I don't know what we were expecting to find. Peanut butter in a jar? Wild pizza? Chickens prancing around? By mid-day, the only thing we had achieved was to find a small stream to quell somewhat our insatiable thirst. Our stomachs churned and churned, the acids in our stomachs did nothing but burn our insides and our souls, like a flame arising from the inside. One could tell that tempers were flaring, and that is why for a while, not a word was said.

After a while, reality set in. Our standards were lowered. Omission of disgusting animals ceased. Like gatherers we plucked every worm and insect off the ground, every wild fruit we could find, and carried them on our pieces of clothing and rags. A small bonfire was made by Avner, and a few of the guys who had stayed behind. A few twigs made for makeshift tools to cut food and cook it over the bonfire.

The first insect was disgusting, even repulsive. The thought of these things moving on six legs, perhaps even inside of us made me a bit nauseous. But hunger won us over. Bite after bite, we began to enjoy our meal, ceased to repulse it. We even began to savor the salty taste and weird textures in our mouths, to the point that our only regret was the fact that we had collected so few. We weren't satisfied. Avner even pushed Roland and Ribeiro to the ground to steal a portion of their meal. The rest of us were too tired to care about them, so we simply ate.

It seemed like we were always hungry, food at the center of our thoughts. In between gulps of water from the stream we longed for food to wash down. Insects and berries weren't good enough; many of us had lost quite some weight.

'I'm so hungry I could eat a human being.'

"Oh, don't be silly, Avner."

'Maybe I'll start with you, Roland!'

Roland laughed, but Avner, in proving he was serious, got up, walked to Roland's area on the floor of where we were eating, and dragged him to the side, just to display his dominance. Of course it was the weakest of us who had to deal with the most suffering. Avner quickly stuffed Roland's share of berries and insects down his throat, and sat down at his spot without the faintest grin.

* * *

Once upon a rainy day, after having been here for more than a week, we began to lose track of time. We arrived on a 3rd of December, although the cold and snow we associate those days with are inexistent in this island. Who knows what day it is? Such challenge seems redundant now, where all I have to look forward to now is picking berries.

Inside our quarters on a rainy day, I looked through the doorway and onto the falling rain. An intellectual fool would most likely ponder existentialist thoughts under the rain, answers to life's questions, or other useless shit. An ant like me shouldn't have use for such stupidity. My mind was simply… blank. In the corner of my eye, I spotted Roland, getting wet under the rain, his hair dripping, his bloodshot eyes illuminating the sky with a touch of red against the backdrop of the grey skies. If looks could kill, this man would have committed genocide, exterminating all living things.

Perhaps it is something about self-esteem? People with lower of it might seem to accept it, the bullying. But proud men like Roland couldn't tolerate such a thing. Lately, Avner had ramped up the bullying of Roland and Ribeiro. Avner would routinely steal Roland's food, or ignore his opinion on many matters concerning the group. And who could blame him? An alpha dog, seeking to reaffirm his power, was just marking his territory. I imagine that he must have been quite arrogant in his workplace. Well, in the rain a lot of things seemed to be moving, so I quickly forgot angry Roland and receded back into my thoughtlessness. Raindrop after raindrop fell, in perfect unison. Were I not a cynic, I could have almost found it beautiful.

'Find it funny that men could have ever been inspired by something as simple as rain'

"What is it, Dr. Petrov? Why are you bothering me?"

'Because you are the only one who listens'

I chuckled.

'Smells like freedom, doesn't it? I guess it isn't as absurd after all that men have often looked to the skies'

I let out a little laugh. "You call this freedom?" I asked.

'What did you think freedom was? The ballot box? Elections? Your apartment? Freedom is pure. Raw. Bare. The elements are the commanders of supreme authority, yet there are no gods, no masters in the purest form of freedom. To many like you, freedom is just a term to throw around, around Election Day, or to argue something in your favor.

Tell me, what freedom is there in going to the ballot box? The status quo won't change, nothing will change. Merely the switching of a face of an ever present system.'

I merely looked at him, and looked away.

'It doesn't matter how loose the chain around your neck is, in the end it is still a chain, a sign of your slavery. What is freedom? It is the ability to truly begin again. To knock down everything you know, to disregard any rule you have learned.'

I looked at him again, disinterested.

'Slavery is in routine. It's in doing something daily, in knowing that all days will be the same. Yet freedom is terrifying. Think about why men were always eager to integrate themselves into civilizations, into anything that would limit them and enslave them?'

"I know I miss it"

'This is freedom. You're free to kill anyone you like, to do as you please, to discard any social more or law. There is no right or wrong. They're just labels, assigned by others.'

I don't think I remember what happened after that.

* * *

Burn the memories! Oh, the smell of fire and smoke, the majestic orange flames that rise up to the sky. Let us pretend that I had no life before this. Under the scorching hot sun, the rays penetrate through my thick hair, and burns the memories like kerosene. On my knees I look for my future, fruits and insects to eat for my short, cruel life. On my knees I look to my future, a short, cruel life where my body will decompose and become dirt for others to suffer on, no afterlife, only loss in this world of timelessness at the bottom of this dirt. No one will remember me, why should they? Even now, I've been quite possibly forgotten, perhaps even replaced, by someone quite similar or perhaps superior in my abilities.

Perhaps the feeling of loneliness is starting to get to me, and this is just a delirious rant. They say sleep can cure everything, so perhaps by the day of tomorrow I'll be feeling quite alright. But for today, the spinning head, the bloodshot eyes, the feeling of a lack of time are insisting to inhabit my thoughts, the elephant in the room remembers everything, the embers of the past collide with the realities of the present.

Perhaps the reason I am here is because I am not normal. Why couldn't I be normal? It is now, in the midst of hunger and depravation that I reproach myself, my being, for being made to reject the incredible. It is now that I wish I had believed those lies, that perhaps it was better to follow the crowd and act like a normal person of society. What is an idea? An idea has infected my mind, stained its purity permanently, and now I am stuck in this limbo, this purgatory where all of us are free, yet lack the ability and will to accomplish or change anything.

Ah, moment of weakness! Some days men snore in comfort in their sleep, and others they whimper like a dog. Basic instinct of man is to miss familiarity no matter how miserable it was. This is my whimper. I am not strong today. May the sun above burn my thoughts, and may the coming monsoon wash them away. To remain silent is the best action in life, but sometimes the mind screams in agony.

* * *

Lazily we strolled in the sun, unaware of the amount of time we had been on the island. One of the guys was humming a popular 1930s tune. Sweat ran down our brow, the sun shone down upon us. Stone faced, we all were living in a dream inside our heads. Some of us must have been thinking, consoling ourselves, or talking to a loved one, saying: "We'll meet again". The falling leaves from the trees were falling around, reflecting the light into a green color. They seemed to whisper to us, asking us if we believed whether anyone remembers us. The thought itched the head.

We were looking for something. What is it? Perhaps a sign, from the sky, from the clouds, a smile. It had been weeks since any of us had smiled. Even Avner looked sad, and he always liked to pretend that he was the strongest emotionally out of all of us.

There are ten of us. Why do we feel so lonely? In the middle of the world, between heaven and earth, stand 10 weary men, exhausted, bored. Imagine an empty world. Begin again. The world's on fire, but the flames in our hearts are close to extinguished. Wind wind, blow out the candles, erase the misery of our existence. Cures Dr. Shneiderlin. Were he to come back, we'd surely hang his head on a tree.

Drearily we returned to our place, the dirty building in the middle of nowhere. Few food we had found, zero solace in our existence we had found. In between gazes we stole from one another, there was a tension, like a rubber band ready to snap. Food is a chore we must endure, the churning of our stomachs a protest against humanity. The world is a terrible place. It spawns creatures, highway men and the rodents they eat. The sun is a furnace, and slowly it cooks your head till you begin to lose your mind. Eyes are simply marbles, glassy figures that break under pressure, ears just flesh, skin just sweat that drips oil and toxic, toxic from the mind, the stomach, and every other impurity in the body.

In between bites you could feel that murder was in the air. Grind your teeth enough, and a spark would set the world in flames. Hate and sadness are the two strongest feelings of men. No one wanted to be sad. To be sad is to be empty, to drill a hole in your heart, let the blood ooze and glow blue in the splendor of the sun. A hollowness inside, echoes that sound to the ear like a hollow aluminum pole.

Fire is what we wanted to feel. Full, burned man, hatred, fire, a spine chilling scream. The mind wants to escape, but at the same time is addicted to the feeling like it is heroin, the veins are popped, the spike running right to our brain. Silence was killing us. Our insides were being torn apart, with some long hands digging in the nails into our intestines. Who will break the silence? Shatter the glass of expectations, of restraint, of courtesy and chivalry and any stupid rule any man ever made up. I was beginning to think that perhaps Dr. Petrov is right. The world isn't worth a thing.

'Fuck this, I want to go home!' Avner shattered the silence. He stood up, with lost, deorbiting eyes, and tossed his food across the room.

'Fuck all of you! Fuck you, and you, and you!' He proceeded to point at each and every one of us.

He punched the wall, his fists landing hard blows, and the wall screamed with thuds, until his hand got red and started to bleed, and the blood flowed like a tear falling down the cheek of a child. The glass between sanity and insanity had been shattered, the sane response to this insane world.

"Please calm down, Avner"

'Fuck you Roland! Don't fucking touch me!'

Roland moved back, afraid, fear in his eyes and concern in his movement. Ribeiro stood up, walked next to Roland with the idea that two would be more of a deterrent to Avner.

"We just want to help you" pleaded Ribeiro, with the look of a scared rabbit. Slowly, both of them approached him, while we stood frozen, in a trance, as if mysterious music were playing from somewhere, perhaps under the floorboards.

Like a cobra, the right hand of Avner stung the face of Roland, right below the eye, turning it purple, without a flinch in Roland's eye. Then another and another, until blood started trickling down his face. Avner grabbed Ribeiro, and tossed him across the floor like a marionette. With a growl, Avner pushed Roland to the ground, flexing his muscles while doing so.

'From now on, I am in charge! No more team bullshit! No more democracies, no more skepticism, I am the King here!'

And most of us, indifferent, several of us ready to be followers and cease the charade, while Ribeiro looked on in fear from the floor, nodded our heads. Avner stood triumphantly, while Roland looked on with his bloodshot eyes, red like the blood on his face, red like the power of hate.


	2. Chapter 2

Change. It's just a word. Change of power, change of clothes, very few to change when there's only 9 others to rule over. Things largely stayed the same after Avner took over. We just listened to him, instead of asking questions. He largely left us to our own. He held his title as largely a ceremonial one; the only caveat was that we'd each give him some of our food. He'd still go out gathering, although now on his own.

There's something wrong with Roland. Doesn't seem to get over the events that happened a few weeks ago. He didn't even bother cleaning the blood off of his face. A brownish streak remains at the side of his face, disgusting. Quieter, he has become, his eyes seem smaller and his movements slower. He seems like a defeated man. I feel for him. Small and quiet as he was, he must have had a large ego. No way he feels that way without it. I almost feel bad for him, but as much as I'd like to help, there's no doubt in my mind that I won't. After all, he's still a stranger; I hardly know anything about him other than his name.

Call it brotherly love. I feel for a man like that, one who merely did what he thought he should, yet received the treatment he did. Yet, he ought to see things the way they are now. Avner is no way near as bad as we thought he'd be. Not the huge tyrant I believed he'd surely be when he proclaimed himself the leader of our group. As big as he was, there was no way he'd want to take on all of us, especially Amir, who despite his quietness and submissiveness, was almost as big. He knew better, and gave us quite a bit of leeway and space to ourselves. In turn, he received the biggest space inside our makeshift home.

In the end, many things remained the same. We still toiled under the sun; the red hot air burned our skin like a kind of rash. Our skin had become darker. As much as we washed away, the crust on our skin composed of dry sweat never seemed to go away. White streaks of dead skin were seen all over our bodies. Hair was an utter mess. It was impossible to look at someone else's eyes and not see the sad, depressed eyes, eyes of defeat, of a low morale. I feel at least a couple were perhaps beginning to feel at least a little suicidal, although my mind lacked the creativity to see how anyone would commit suicide here. No weapons, no strings. The island was too flat to jump off somewhere, the water too shallow to drown.

* * *

We were hardly prepared for the coming monsoon. It rained all day it seemed, patches of hard rain, like lead bullets, followed by a cool mist that brought the temperature down quite a bit. We were stuck inside most of the time, quiet, uncomfortable as if we had all never met before. Stronger outside were the noises of thunder, stronger than the sounds of our churning stomachs, empty and in constant protest.

It wasn't that we weren't used to rain. The problem is that we weren't used to constant rain, and unprepared we were for the cold temperatures. At least a consequence of the ground become saturated with water was more worms to eat, keeping us alive. On the other hand, by this point we had already shed what little energy and weight we had regained.

The constant rain cooled down the weather considerably, not because of the winding down of humidity, but rather, because the gusts of wing that blew into the building were of a chilly nature. The chattering of teeth soon became quite common, almost in unison, our skin was covered in goose bumps, and our bodies trembled. Here and there you could see our breath in the sky. Our arms and legs were often glued to our bodies, the warmth confined to a part of our bodies made us long for blankets. We had nothing but rags and t-shirts. Those were used as blankets, although by the uncomfortable looks in people's eyes, I concluded that these were mostly inadequate. But I didn't need to see them to know that. My own teeth wouldn't stop chattering, it was a tic tic noise that emanated from my mouth, and any attempt to stop it would make my entire body shake instead. My arms were inside my t-shirt. I was curled up in the fetal position, with my hands on my armpits to steal what little warmth I possessed from my own body. That first night must have been the worst of my life.

In the cold, I slept upright, or at least tried to. The splendorous stars were opaque by the clouds and the rain, and the sound of raindrops crashing against the ground dominated our little world. In these cases, there's absolutely nothing to think about but home. There's no way to have a fire in our shelter without burning it down. With our situation already dire, empty stomachs, low morale, the new situation had us staring at the corners of the walls; almost pitch black, and remembering some obscure event in our lives.

Completely still we were, all ten of us, almost completely still. The shivering and swaying were evident in the dark. More so the chattering of teeth. It almost felt like a spark would come out of this action. The floor almost looked like a television set, playing the greatest hits or horror movies of our lives, as some of us seemed to have a faint smile, or a big frown.

* * *

Dr. Petrov died on the tenth day of the monsoon. I should've seen it coming, but it still caught me by surprise. I guess I should have read the signs, especially when he stopped talking so much about his crazy ideas, and the smirk on his face had disappeared. The event was terrifying to me, whereas the others seemed to hardly blink an eye at all at the event.

His skin had turned pale. Whiter than white, his body had the semblance of a ghost, or a cloud on a bright summer day. He had begun to stink, more than normal too. And anyone who touched him felt the coldness, the feeling of death. Fearful were the others, as his presence seemed to spread the omen of death, and the yellowing eyes seemed to predict more tragedy. Perhaps this is why, on the tenth day, Avner ordered us to take him and dump him into the woods.

On the tenth day, rain had stopped briefly. It was as if the clouds had parted in order for us to do our deed. Between five of us, we carried him as deep into the island as we could. His grunts and moans sounded like an agonizing cry, without any way to help. This was driving me crazy. It was as if the grim reaper himself was living inside that building with us, making everyone uncomfortable. As living organisms, it is our instinct to live, no matter how miserable our existence.

On a dry patch of the forest we set him down, way on the other side of the island. Panting, we leaned against the trees to catch our breath and recuperate the significant energy expended. After a couple of minutes, everyone started to leave, probably in order to avoid the rain. But it was all so… cold. Like dumping a bag of waste somewhere, no one even looked back. My impulse was to follow them, and indeed my body, almost on its own, followed them. But then I looked back. Perhaps it was a mistake.

He was still alive. His skin was pale, paler than a full moon on a dark night. He had stopped agonizing and screaming. He had a smirk on his face. Perhaps it was because his brain had released a mortal dose of endorphins, a merciful way to sedate his death, while his body shut down. I leaned down to touch his shoulder, but the coldness made me remove my hand just as quickly. It was a dead cold, different from the cold of ice or rain. It was as if nothing had ever been alive in there. But at least he wasn't shivering anymore. I looked into his eyes. I saw a faint gleam, rapidly diminishing second by second. He spoke.

"Why are you so afraid? This is merely the end of my cycle. Remember what I've taught you."

'What for?' I asked.

"Or don't. I don't care anymore. I won't matter to me anymore."

I looked away, towards the site of our camp.

"If you think it's dark now, you haven't seen anything yet. Wait 'till the shadows come out and play. Goodbye."

We shook hands, and at that moment I felt death, finality. After this, there's no tomorrow for him. The thought sent shivers down my spine. I felt the urge to cry suddenly, despite the fact that he's just a stranger, a man I never knew. I buried my face into my hands, and unleashed a river, like if his life had slipped through my hands, all while it began raining all around me, and he gave me a look pleading to let him die alone.

While I marched away I heard him sing a tune that was eerily familiar to me. I believe it went something like this:

_Maybe, you'll think of me_

_When you are all, alone_

_Maybe, the one who, is waiting for you,_

_Will prove untrue, then what will you do?_

_Maybe, you'll sit, and sigh, wishing that I were near_

_Then maybe, you'll ask me, to come back again…._

_And maybe, I'll say, "maybe"!_

* * *

Late at night we awoke, days after the monsoon. It came from one of the forgotten corners of our building. A white light arose, like if something divine had entered our hell. But no, it was merely the TV. We had forgotten the thing was there, since it hadn't been on, nor had we looked at it since the day of our arrival.

Dr. Schneiderlin was on it. He announced that there was a gun somewhere on this island, fully loaded. The idea of it sounded incredulous and absurd. But to the others, this meant power.

* * *

"I'm in charge, and I'll always be in charge." Avner told us menacingly, afraid of losing his power.

"If any of you go out looking for that gun, there will be consequences, DIRE consequences!"

But as we set out later to look for food, everyone scattered to look for that gun, as if Avner hadn't said anything. I was afraid for poor Roland, surely he'd hold the brunt of the punishment if anything went wrong. Avner dragging around a huge stick certainly only helped to make the others nervous, and search more intently for that gun.

* * *

The lack of food in recent days must have made Avner angry, even delirious. As of recently, there had been less and less food. No doubt that everyone had been looking for that gun. Most for power. But I was certain that there was at least one person looking to commit suicide with it. I believed this to be the case for Ribeiro, who hadn't gotten over the humiliation suffered at the hands of Avner. Avner seemed to be angrier and angrier every day, until one day, he was waiting for all of us with his stick as the sun began to set.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this, but I'm afraid I have to make an example out of you. You will respect my authority, one way or another. If I have to, I will inflict pain on you to make you comply." He began pacing back and forth.

"You know, the Romans had a system in place once upon a time. Said it instilled a great amount of respect from soldiers for their generals." He began to hit the palm of his hand with the stick. He looked at us.

"They called it decimation. It consisted of a group of men beating every tenth man out of a group. But there are only eight of you. Therefore, I shall let you vote on it. If you refuse, I shall randomly pick one of you. But it doesn't have to be that way."

Is he crazy?! No way had I believed that he could do that, no way he held that much power over us. But then the others started to comply, giving in to any semblance of order, no matter how misplaced. It looked as if they were going to comply with his nonsense. One by one, they all voted for Roland. Then they got to me. I didn't know what to do. I felt compassion towards Roland. It felt wrong to condemn him to a painful death. Yet, everyone had picked him, and my vote had no means of altering the outcome. It felt pointless to form antagonism with someone else over something out of my hands. So I selected Roland, and he stepped forward, merely uttering "Very well."

As we approached him, he lifted his shirt, revealing a sliver of silver in his waist. A gun! He pulled it out.

"I am in charge here. Now, I am god. This is my power. These are my thunderbolts."

Avner looked terrified.

"Here I am master, judge, jury, and executioner. Get on your knees, Ribeiro."

Ribeiro complied.

"Do you accept me as your master and overlord?"

'Yes.' responded Ribeiro.

Roland walked towards Ribeiro, drew his gun, and fired. At point blank range, the blood splattered over the floor. His body fell over, unreal, almost like a nightmare. To think that there had been life there seconds ago was terrifying to think. Chilling.

"Tie his hands up." He pointed at me as he holstered his weapon. Avner quickly complied, tying up my hands with a rag. I stood helpless and in awe at how quickly Roland had amassed so much power.

"Follow me. Bring him."

Avner and Amir escorted me, each with a hand around my arms. I was still in awe, my muscles were tense. I had no idea what they were going to do, but the thought lingered and I knew that it couldn't be good.

They made me kneel down by the stream, precisely where a tree cast a shadow over me.

I still couldn't believe it. This is absurd! It sounds like a poorly written story. How is it that Roland now has the power, and it is I who has lost? My mind was going at a thousand kilometers per second. Ba bump, ba bump, I could hear my heart beating faster. My thighs had turned into gelatin, and my eyes were watery, to the point of overflowing with tears.

I had been ungrateful! I know that I had wished for death many times. I've changed my mind; I've changed my evil ways! I've never ever believed in god, but if he's real, she, IT! I'd change! I'd start to believe. I'd dedicate my life to a higher cause if it meant that Roland wouldn't pull the trigger!

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. I'm counting every breath. Every breath might be the last one. I want to live! Oh world! Why have you brought me forth into your bosom, just to sacrifice me like a sheep?! I ask for your hand to help me, for you to make the gun fail, for you to be merciful upon a sinner and deliver me from the silver hell of Roland's bullet.

But no one is going to help me. NO one ever has. Not even a footnote I've been in people's lives, more like a scrap of paper I've been, one that people flick away. Merely living would be an act of rebellion. I have to do something. I can't stay here on my knees and accept my situation. The idea of whimpering out of this life like a candle blown away by the wind is equivalent of the thought of being decapitated a thousand times. But my body won't respond. Oh, legs, why? Never have I felt freer than when we'd cut through the air like sharp knives, when we'd run like the wind on a sunny day. Why do you betray me now?

Like a slave, like a coward I will die. He has a gun! But I can't merely stay here and accept my destiny. Destiny is just a word! It is a word people make up to give excuses, to fool themselves that their desires are impossible, that their fantasies, left behind by even more absurd decisions, are unreachable.

Dr. Petrov was right. About everything. But now I'll never be able to show the world. Now what will remain is a host and a pool of blood, one red like the fire inside Roland. Oh, but why me? It's like the world has been conspiring against me, culminating in this precise moment. But this moment, I accept my beliefs, I accept what I am. Incoherently and clumsily, I dive for Roland's ankles while a shot rings out, and this moment stands still in agony and timelessness, becoming just another moment to add into the annals of man.


End file.
